He released the boat, jumped in, and rowed his hardest.
Far out in the distance he beheld a black speck, which he believed to be Purvis, who, despite the giddy height from which he had fallen, might yet be swimming for his life.
“Pray heaven it may be so,” he ejaculated. “If he is lost I shall never forgive myself.”
He pulled lustily at the oars. The sea was rather rough, and although he was a tolerably good rower on the Thames, or any other river, he had but little experience in the management of a craft on the sea; but he did not care much about the danger and risk he was running—he was actuated by a higher feeling.
His object was to save and succour a fellow-creature, and so he bore bravely on. As he did so he heard Laura Stanbridge’s voice. Heard her cry out—
“Come back, Tom. The attempt is useless.”
He took no heed of the warning, and never stopped till he had come within sight of the black speck. Then, to his dismay and horror, he discovered his mistake. It was but a floating buoy.
He was so moved by this discovery that he was near bursting into tears.
His eyes swept the waste of waters, but he could discern nothing like a human form; yet, nothing daunted, he rowed in almost every direction in the hope of seeing some trace of Purvis.
Darkness now fell upon the scene—some heavy clouds obscured the moon, and sadly and reluctantly the unhappy rower made for the shore.